Strawberries
by A Paris Romance
Summary: I've always thought that strawberries were the sexiest thing a girl could eat. HrD


_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter—or strawberries, if you're going to get technical._

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I've always thought that strawberries were the sexiest thing a girl could eat. I know, I know, right? I mean, why, in the first place, would Draco Malfoy be thinking of girls—_eating—_let alone, eating _sugar_ (otherwise known as fat)_ coated strawberries!_

I like my women thin, you see.

So—where were we? Oh yes. Why, of all people, would a _Malfoy_ dwell on girls eating fruit? Sure, the occasional cherry can be extremely painful to a man's mental stability, but a strawberry? Why in Voldemort's name!

Because you've never seen Hermione Granger eat a strawberry.

There. I said it. Yes. Did I stutter? Hermione Granger. The mudblood. No? No! Oh yes.

Believe me, I'm aware of how severely my reputation could be ruined if anyone found out. I quite like being seen as the dangerous-my-father-is-a-death-eater-I've-met-Lord-Voldemort-on-several-occasions-I-could-be-communicating-with-Death-Eaters-right-now-and-plotting-a-way-for-them-to-hurt-you-and-the-ones-you-love-but-I'm-still-charming-and-handsome-and-disturbed-in-a-sexy-way type of guy. It attracts the ladies you see.

So I have a lot at stake right now.

But sometimes I just can't tear my eyes away; which is extremely odd due to the fact that I've never really had a taste for fruit of any kind and seeing women eat has, in the past, been extremely revolting in my opinion. And there's always the fact that Hermione isn't bone thin and possibly anorexic and/or addicted to drugs and looks almost emaciated like the women I've dated in the past.

Which—this may sound crazy—I've actually come to seen as a good thing.

Do you know what's worst about this whole situation? Strawberries are her favorite food. Not kidding. She eats them constantly—breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks. She's insane. Why is she so bloody attached to the one thing that drives me mad?

Because lately I've been noticing that things don't exactly work out for me.

For instance, I've been performing terribly in my classes, and I've dropped ten pounds. What could have caused this? Strawberries, I tell you. Strawberries! At meals, I'm watching her, waiting for her to eat them. And in my classes, I'm either watching her (damn Gryffindor/Slytherin pairings!) or thinking about watching her eat strawberries and wondering if I'll make it past another day without her seeing me.

She's not a dumb witch. I figure my days are numbered.

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My days have ended.

It happened.

Today.

Dammit!

She caught me. Not jesting. I'm dead. Father is going to pop right out of my dormitory bathroom, or out from underneath my trunk right now and slit my throat.

She came right up to me—and of course I nearly fainted, which is right well peachy—and (this is the worst part) _HANDED ME A STRAWBERRY._

Do I look like I'm kidding? I have it right here, in my hands—the very fruit.

She handed it to me and gave me a little smirk (she really looks sexy when she smirks…) and whispered,

"Draco, if you like watching me eat these so much, maybe you should try one yourself."

She stood so close to me her breath was on my neck and for some reason I couldn't speak. And I wasn't the only one. As she flounced off like the little _man trapper_ she is, I saw Harry and Ron's faces as shocked as I was.

Oh. Bloody. Hell. She's got me calling them _Harry _and _Ron_.

How charming. Just like her stupid little strawberry.

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She knows I watch her. I know she knows. And she knows that I know that she knows I'm watching her.

And I'm so bloody infatuated, obsessed, _in love_—whatever you choose to call it—that I can't even make coherent sentences anymore, because no matter where I go, there she is. In my head. Right next to me in class. I can't think. All I can do is watch her eat strawberries.

Bloody fucking hell! When did I turn into a pile of pathetic, poetic, non-progressive sappiness? Topped with a sudden bout of really bad hair days, no less!

Well I suppose it all started when bloody Hermione Granger became obsessed with strawberries.

Great observation, aye?

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She kissed me today. Joking? Do I look like I'm joking? No! Oh yes.

She kissed me.

She kissed me.

Now at least I know that if my father jumps out from my bathroom, or from under my trunk, I can die happy.

Sappy? Yup. Do I care? Not at all.

We were in the library. Typical. She was reading a book. I sat down.

She kissed me.

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I love Hogwarts. I love spring. I love dark closets. I love lying out on the grass. I love moonlit nights. I love moonlit swims. I love spontaneous moonlit dances. I love feeling carefree. I love late night study sessions. I love books. I love broom closets. I love being randomly pulled into dark corners and corridors. I love curly honey colored hair. I love big, brown eyes. I love being loved. I love secrets.

And I love strawberries. I know, I know, right? Why would, of _all_ people, Draco Malfoy, claim to be in love with **strawberries** if they—just some short time ago, mind you—caused him _so much_ pain?

_Because you aren't secretly dating Hermione Granger._

**And you don't get to feed her strawberries.**


End file.
